


Speak

by Hornswaggler



Category: Z Nation (TV)
Genre: Gen, Team as Family
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-03-05
Updated: 2015-08-01
Packaged: 2018-03-16 10:50:45
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,519
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3485477
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hornswaggler/pseuds/Hornswaggler
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Maybe it had been a year, maybe more, but all Tommy knew for sure was it had been a very long time since he'd actually talked to anyone, even himself."</p><p>In-show look at 10K's getting used to being around actual people again, and their various efforts to make it a bit easier on him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to a bunch of exchanged headcanons with Tumblr user the-alchemist-exorcist, I got an idea for a mini-series. Probably just a collection of one-shots and they’ll be skewing canon just a little - not the main plotline but timeline details and one particular character’s development.
> 
> Tagged everyone because they'll all show up; 10K is just the most prominent as it is about him.

He couldn’t remember when he had last spoken out loud. He knew it had been three years since the outbreak – someone had written on a wall about the anniversary somewhere he’d been scavenging – but he wasn’t entirely sure how long he had been out with his dad before…everything else. Maybe it had been a year, maybe more, but all Tommy knew for sure was it had been a very long time since he’d actually talked to anyone, even himself.

There wasn’t really reason to speak. He travelled well alone, knew how to hunt to get food, and his gun was a large enough model that people usually didn’t take the ammo from the gun shops he found. There wasn’t any need for bartering or trading, and his interactions with other people tended to involve watching them from a distance until they were safely out of range. It wasn’t that he assume everyone was out to kill the first other survivor they found – it was just that there were definitely a few people like that, and he wasn’t sure he’d be able to tell them apart.

Tommy ended up wandering after his dad had died, circling the nearest mountain, heading west for a bit, and then doubling back. There wasn’t much of a method; it was just a daily pattern of getting food, finding somewhere to sleep, and waking up the next morning. He watched. He listened. He did so silently.

It wasn’t complicated; it was just surviving. Just like he’d been taught.

At some point he found himself back in the city, some place called Sleepy Hollow, and took the opportunity to pick through the remnants of the buildings for anything useful. The place was relatively quiet; he took out the few zombies that wandered by with his knife, not wanting to risk the report of his rifle drawing in a crowd.

There wasn’t a ton left; after three years, that wasn’t surprising. He did manage to fill up his plastic gallon jug with rainwater from a fountain and set off to find somewhere to set up a fire so he could get it boiled clean.

The first place with a decent vantage point looked like it used to be a high school. There was a car crashed through the bay door, seemingly recent as the engine was still ticking, and a good number of bodies littering the sidewalk outside. Tommy skirted around all of it to the back alley, using an old rusty fire escape to scramble up to the roof, and set up camp.

He got a small fire going, got the first part of the water heating in the pot he had crammed in his bag, and settled on the edge of the roof to wait. None of the zombies in the area seemed interested in him, which was a pleasant surprise. There was a bunch of them flocked around what looked like a small cage, but the crowd made it difficult to actually see inside. Some people used captured animals to lure the zombies into traps, so it didn’t seem too unlikely that whoever got driven out of here had done the same.

It was a little surprising to see a truck roll up, and even more so when an extremely varied group of people piled out of it. Tommy ducked out of sight immediately, taking up his usual habits; watch, listen, don’t be seen.

He could pick up only snippets of the conversation – a lot of it tense – and didn’t feel it too important to try to get more.

He watched them extract a young woman from the cage, somehow remarkably alive, and vaguely wondered who she’d managed to piss off to get put in there.

He watched half the group go inside while the others started picking through the remaining cars and bodies.

Tommy generally had a very strict rule of not interfering with people he didn’t know – which, granted, was everybody. If they’d survived this long they could take care of themselves, and he didn’t need to draw attention. So he watched, occasionally through his scope, and started planning the best route out of there.

Then he saw the old man get grabbed, watched the others circle trying to find a shot that wouldn’t risk hitting the guy, and suddenly Tommy found himself centering in on the zombie’s head and hearing the crack of the rifle a fraction of a second before the skull exploded.

The old man froze, looked up, and Tommy immediately ducked back down behind the ledge out of sight.

They knew he was there now. Maybe if they were like most people they’d figure it was military – or maybe that wouldn’t be good, as one of the guys had been dressed in uniform. Maybe they’d just assume he was with another group and head off without question. That would be ideal; that would be the easiest route by far.

He was still kicking himself, though, as he hurriedly packed up his gear, stomped the fire out, and slid back down to the alley. It wasn’t that he was sadistic or anything; other people were just too much of a variable to deal with. He knew how to keep himself alive, and that didn’t involve anyone else.

It wasn’t exactly a waste of a bullet, though. He’d hit the zombie, got one more mark on his count, and he’d kept a guy from having his face eaten. As long as he could slip out again, no real harm.

More gunshots sounded behind him as he walked, but after a few minutes of silence Tommy figured they had either been totally overrun or gotten out clean. It was another few minutes before the sound of tires on gravel answered that for him. Dumb idea to take the road, of course they’d take the same road out…

Tommy kept his head down, shoulders a little hunched, and made sure to walk quickly and deliberately enough that he wouldn’t be mistaken for dead. An unexpected sort of fear worked its way into his gut when the tires slowed and the black truck pulled up alongside him.

“Hey! You’re that sharp-shooter who saved my ass, aren't ya?”

The voice was strange. It wasn’t like he hadn’t heard people talk, but it had been a long time since they’d talked directly to him. He looked up a little warily, meeting the eyes of the guy driving. The rest were in the truck, though the windows were tinted enough that he couldn’t actually see their faces.

"Oh man...I want to thank you." The guy seemed to consider his options for a moment before nodding at the back of the truck. “You need a ride?”

Tommy caught himself frowning for a moment, eyes narrowing as he forced the words to process. It took a little longer than it used to, and once they sunk in, he eyed the truck warily. Immediate concerns came to mind – which way they were going, whether anyone was going to shoot him for some reason, if they really just wanted his supplies and planned to use him as bait – but figuring out some way of addressing these wasn’t coming easily.

Instead, against every instinct and every intelligent thing he’d done to stay alive so far, Tommy shrugged once and pulled himself up into the bed of the truck. Two quick taps on the roof got them moving again, and he frantically tried to rationalize this decision, but the muffled voices from the cab were distracting him.

They were talking, at least one of them arguing, and though he couldn’t make out what precisely it was about he had a few good guesses.

These people were talking – likely about him, at least partially. Suddenly, and for the first time consciously, Tommy realized one thing that might complicate things until he was back on his own:

He had no idea how long it had been since he’d last spoken out loud.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Making this up as I go, and I'm horrible at updating.  
> Also I'm not used to characters like Garnett, so apologies if I end up a little off with him.

He wasn't sure how precisely he had gotten roped into whatever little mission the group was on. There hadn't ever been any real agreement, but the next time they stopped one of the men - the one who appeared to have taken charge now that the guy in the uniform was gone - explained the situation to both Tommy and the girl from the cage. Something important was in California, apparently, and they had to make sure one of the guys - the one who kept glaring at everyone from the back of the truck's cab - got to someone who could get him there in on piece.

No real agreement. He'd explained, gave a couple seconds to mull it over, and then called to the rest of the group that they'd be starting up dinner soon.

Tommy got the feeling that no one would stop him when he inevitably walked out. Most of them seemed to know each other already and it didn't seem like everyone was too thrilled about picking up strays. Still, if they were offering a free meal and not trying to kill him...

He accepted the bowl of heated soup offered wordlessly with a short nod and settled on the edge of the makeshift camp facing out. They'd left Sleepy Hollow and started south, taking directions from some unknown source and apparently planned to turn west as soon as it was convenient. That would likely be when he slipped out; Tommy had been up and down this part of the coast for years, but he'd never been further west than the edge of Virginia.

This was the kind of terrain his dad had taught him to navigate. The thought of leaving that, getting into the midwest, felt wrong somehow, and he caught himself absently tracing the braided cord around his wrist for a little while before the sound of approaching footsteps made him turn his attention back to the soup.

It was the makeshift leader of the group that sank onto the ground next to him, and for a few moments it was silent. Tommy noticed that the guy wasn't actually eating, which was unusual, but he didn't have time to consider why before he had to, once again, focus on listening to actual spoken words again. It was still a little strange and still made his ears ring a tiny bit, but at least he hadn't just forgotten the entire English language.

"I don't think we ever got any proper introductions," the man was saying. He seemed to be trying to make eye contact, something Tommy was pointedly avoiding. "It's been a rough few days, and Hammond getting killed..." He paused, almost as if expecting a response, before shaking his head. "Anyway, I'm Garnett, if no one's told you."

The silence that stretched after that was definitely expecting a response. It took more thought than it should have to figure it out - _your name, he wants your name._

For some reason that didn't sit right with him. Tommy hadn't known many people even before the apocalypse - one side-effect of growing up in the mountains - and all the people who had known his name were probably dead by now. Telling someone else, some stranger he was still expecting to draw a gun on him, did not seem conducive to survival.

Instead, he nodded once, keeping his eyes on his soup. Garnett seemed to frown before the expression was wiped off again, and he settled for a small sigh. "I see the way you watch us," he said, and that got Tommy to glance over quickly. "Hell, I don't really blame you. It probably doesn't mean a damn thing these days, but we're not looking to kill or rob anybody. You saved Doc's life, and I think we could help each other out." Garnett gave a rather searching look before shrugging and pushing himself to his feet again. "Can't make you stay, of course, but I'd ask that you at least consider it."

Garnett strode back into the center of camp and for a few moments Tommy tried to listen in on the low conversation that started on his return. He waited a couple seconds before glancing over his shoulder to eye the group, trying to judge the mood there, but decided that it wasn't worth the trouble and focused on his bowl again.

The other girl hadn't seemed any more comfortable than he had been to start with, but she was at least sitting around the fire, as distanced from the rest as she could while still sticking by the warmth. He wasn't sure if she'd spoken yet either, but she looked to be at least trying to be marginally social.

There was no real reason to though, right? He was leaving in a day or two. No need to get to know people that he'd never see again. They didn't need his name. He could watch their backs for a few days, add some more kills to his tally, and part ways easily.

Tommy let out a quick breath through his nose, realized he hadn't actually eaten any of the food he held yet, and he settled a little more comfortably on the dirt before starting on it. They seemed a decent enough group, at least. Wouldn't hurt to help them out a little. Just for a few days.

* * *

 

"Y'know, kid, it's been nearly a week."

Tommy let himself hesitate before he looked up from cleaning his rifle, head tilting a little toward the older man automatically to prompt an explanation. That got a light sigh and Doc leaned forward.

"Picked you up five days back and you still haven't told us your name."

He still hadn't spoken at all, technically, but that went unsaid. For a while they hadn't seemed to notice, but lately there had been more pointed attempts at getting a response, mostly from Doc. Garnett had tried at first but he seemed to accept the silence after the first few times. Murphy was equally obnoxious to everyone. Mack and Addy were casual enough about it, but they limited their reactions to vaguely curious looks. Warren didn't seem too concerned as long as he kept up the efficiency with the gun, and Cassandra was nearly as quiet as he was anyway.

Of course, she'd at least given her name right away.

Tommy considered it for a moment and then settled for a shrug, his attention going back to the rag in his hand.

"It'd be a lot easier if we didn't have to call you kid all the time," Doc pointed out. He was trying for a light and casual tone, but it wasn't entirely working.

Another shrug. They could get his attention easily enough, and he tended to communicate whatever was needed through quick hand signals, since the only real required messages had to do with things like positioning when a group of zombies came through. He'd gotten used to rapping on the roof of the truck to get eyes on him, and it was effective. Tapping shoulders could also work, hypothetically, but physical contact wasn't really something he wanted to initiate. He kept his distance, he took good shots.

For whatever reason, though, it didn't seem to be enough to be considered 'normal'.

It was a little odd in a way, he'd admit. Tommy knew, technically, how normal people acted. Normal people spoke to each other, didn't keep to the edge of camp whenever possible, or flinch away when someone got too close. He hadn't exactly been a social butterfly before the apocalypse hit, and then once everyone else ran the risk of trying to eat your face off, it just made sense to keep some distance from them. That didn't exactly wear off easily.

Doc considered him curiously, a small frown twisting his face. He gave a short huff of breath and leaned back again, glancing around the small quickly-pitched camp. "Everyone's gotta have a name," he said, though it sounded more musing now. "Gotta have somethin'. Doesn't even gotta be yours, I figure, not from before. Just somethin'."

He seemed content to end the one-sided conversation there, at least for the moment. Tommy found his hands still as he mulled the words over. Giving his own name still seemed off. Everyone who had known it was probably dead, for one...and hell, how much of that kid was even left these days?

"Got a few stragglers." Warren's voice broke through from the other side of the truck, and she rounded the front, taking quick stock of where the rest were all standing quickly and Murphy was craning his neck out of the passenger window to see. "Five or six from the southwest." Her eyes landed on Tommy as he instinctively drew the bolt of his rifle back and nodded at him shortly. "You wanna see if you can pick them off?"

He returned the nod, managing to ignore the sudden eyes on him as he pulled himself into the bed of the truck and propped up the gun on the roof. In this, at least, he knew exactly what he was doing. Sniping was the one thing he knew for a fact he was good at and it had become second nature over the years.

Pick a target, line up the sight, quick calculation to factor in the breeze from the east, minute adjustment, breathe out...

_913._

Pull the bolt back, note where the casing fell so he could grab it later, rinse and repeat.

His mental tally was up to 918 when the last zombie fell, still a good eighty yards from the truck. Tommy knelt to pick up the casings, slipping them into a pocket for the moment as he glanced back down to the others. Warren nodded approvingly and Garnett came up to lean one arm on the side of the truck just as Tommy sat on the spare tire.

"Impressive as always, kid," he said. "Whoever taught you to use that gun certainly knew what they were doing."

The one who taught him to use the gun had also been the first one on his tally. That didn't need to be mentioned, though.

Everyone else had drifted away again, Warren going back to where she had been keeping watch and Murphy had retreated back into the cab. Mack and Addy picked up their previous conversation, Doc seemed to have joined in, and Cassandra looked like she was listening while trying not to actually _look_ like she was listening. Garnett, however, stayed where he was, pulling a map out of his jacket pocket and unfolding part of it to glance over.

"We're going to try stopping in Trenton," the man said after a few moments. "I don't know how you are on ammo, but there might be a store that hasn't been completely cleared out if we're lucky." A short pause and then Garnett glanced up. "You think you're gonna be with us that far?"

Well, at least he didn't beat around the bush. Tommy shrugged - his default answer to most things and in this case he honestly wasn't sure - and Garnett seemed to accept that, folding the map again.

"Well we'd be glad to have you. And look," he leaned a little closer, shooting a look toward the truck's cab, "I know Murphy can be a pain in the ass, but if you don't wanna talk, that's your business, alright? We've all seen hell out here; he just happens to deal with it by never shutting up."

Tommy wasn't entirely sure what his face was trying to do for a few seconds before he realized that it was the start of a grin. He had no idea how long it had been since that had happened either, and managed to wipe it away quickly before it got too weird.

He considered the man for a moment, then considered what Doc had said earlier. Tommy was still his name, technically, but these days it didn't really feel like _him_. It didn't feel right introducing himself with that, if he were to introduce himself at all. But names could be made up, they didn't have to stay the same as before, right? He rolled a bullet casing between his fingers absently, suddenly finding himself trying to think of some replacement.

His eyes locked on the casing when the idea came, and he mulled it over for a minute or so almost curiously. Not conventional, but what was these days? It was fitting, said something about him, and let him keep some distance at the same time. And hell, he _was_ getting tired of being called kid all the time...

A quick and quieter tap on the side of the truck got Garnett to glanced up again, and at least the man was patient enough to keep watching even as the boy tried to force his way through some kind of mental block that had built up over the months.

"Ten thousand," he finally managed. Interesting choice of first words. His voice sounded weird. It was unclear whether that was because it had changed due to disuse or because he just hadn't heard it in however long it had been, but he was rather glad it was quiet since he wasn't eager to have everyone else freak out about this revelation just yet.

"What was that?"

Tommy had to clear his throat, resisting the urge to rub it as well. It didn't used to feel this weird, did it? "My name...it's ten thousand."

Garnett considered that for a moment, and there was a very brief flash of panic that it might somehow not be acceptable. Then the man grinned, nodding. "Ten thousand it is, then. Good to have you aboard." He glanced back toward the group and another flash of panic rose at the thought of him calling everyone else over, but instead Garnett simply straightened, pulling his jacket a little closer around. "I'm going to do a scout of the perimeter. Could use your eyes, if you wanted to come along."

That was it. No questioning, no pressing for more...that could've gone a hell of a lot worse. Scouting usually wasn't a job for a pair, and Tommy was pretty certain that meant there would be a few questions once out of earshot of the rest of the camp. Questions usually didn't get answered beyond a shrug or the quick nod or head-shake when necessary. Garnett knew this, but maybe he was hoping that the success of five spoken words would lead to more.

And hey, Tommy figured as he gave a quick nod, tagging along couldn't hurt.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Been a long time, hasn't it? Since the last chapter I've had many adventures, including meeting the actual cast of the actual show which will probably remain the highlight of my year. (Nat was impressed with my 10K costume and I was absolutely ecstatic.)
> 
> It's four in the morning as I post this, so I apologize for any minor errors I might have missed. If I see any later I'll fix them, but they'll be minor.
> 
> I don't know if any of the other chapters will be this specifically focused on episodes; this one covers Fracking Zombies but things might start diverging more afterwards. Not a ton, but I'm not looking to just rewrite the show. Either way, have a chapter, enjoy a chapter, eat your vegetables, etc etc.

Garnett didn’t talk much himself when they did the perimeter checks. It became something of a regular thing; the man would joke that his sight was going with age and he needed someone with good eyes. Tommy was grateful for the breaks from the larger group. He could handle it for a little while, but it didn’t take too long for the constant noise to be too much. It left an odd ringing in his ears that wouldn’t go away until he’d gotten away to somewhere quiet for a while.

Warren had started picking up on it too. She had a decent amount to deal with already, trying to keep Murphy behaved enough to prevent someone else from knocking him out every few minutes. Somehow, though, she seemed to have already become at least a little familiar with the two newest members of their ragtag group. She never seemed to expect him to respond and accepted vague gestures when necessary.

He wasn’t sure which one of them came up with the idea, but it was Garnett that started teaching him legitimate hand signals. They seemed military, which would make sense considering the two said they’d been National Guard. It didn’t do a whole lot for casual conversation, but definitely started coming in handy when Garnett wanted him up high watching the road or hunkered down somewhere keeping an eye on whoever was scouting ahead and actually saying as much out loud would be ill-advised.

Their progress couldn’t be called particularly fast, especially considering how many roads were impassable, but there was progress. For a while they had three vehicles; Tommy took the rear guard in the bed of the truck that Doc drove, despite the extra room in the cab. He could still hear Warren’s delighted laughter from that far back as she mowed down any zombies that were convenient and part of him wondered at the sanity of any of these people.

But hey, it was the apocalypse. That gave pretty much everyone a pass.

It didn’t take too long for the three-car advantage to be nipped in the bud. Warren’s truck sputtered to a stop just a few hours after they got it, and they had to spend a few minutes ridding the other truck’s wheel well of zombies. The bikers rumbling past were unexpected – the first other living people Tommy had seen apart from those he was riding with.

“That’s right, keep rolling,” he heard Warren say quietly, “and we’ll all live to see another day.”

High hopes, probably, but it was the apocalypse. Living hour-to-hour was impressive.

Tommy didn’t bother joining the others when they went to look back at New York in the distance. He’d never been a fan of cities, and especially never ones that big; the place didn’t hold any sentimental value to him like he was sure it did to others. No one said much when they returned; Warren and Garnett got into the Suburban and drove out again, just far enough to get to the smoldering remains of a mall and start scrounging for gas. Mack gave everyone a crash course on how to siphon it from tanks – though he wouldn’t explain how he gained that particular skill – and they set to picking through the cars piled up on the highway.

Doc had a tendency to chatter whether anyone was listening or not. Tommy had gotten better at half-listening when that happened, making sure there wasn’t anything too important that he should pay attention to and nodding on occasion. Garnett remained the only person to have actually heard him speak, and though Doc hadn't been trying as hard to get a word out of him lately, there hadn’t been any change in how much the older man talked himself.

It was the fifth or sixth time that he noticed being called ‘kid’ as they moved from car to car that made him realize he had still only told Garnett his name. Most of the hesitance was the usual wariness to say anything, but part of it was still just trying to get used to the idea of having a different name at all.

But hell, no point in taking it back now, right?

He briefly tried to figure out some way to avoid actually saying out loud, considered just writing something down, and decided that was way more effort than it was worth. They probably didn't even have anything to write with.

Probably easier to just get it over with. He tried to steel himself and waited for a slight pause in one of Doc's complaints about the taste of gas to reach over and tap on the car they were currently working on. It had become pretty natural for the others to immediately look at him when he did that, and Doc's expression grew curious when it wasn't immediately followed by a gesture of some sort. Instead Tommy -  _10K, c'mon, you have to get used to it too_ \- spent a few more seconds trying to convince his mouth to work and vaguely wishing he and the rest of the planet all knew sign language.

"My name..." He cleared his throat, head shaking once quickly. Damn his voice still sounded weird. He wasn't sure he'd ever be too happy hearing that. "My name, it's..."

"Hey, it doesn't matter, kid," Doc told him. Apparently the effort involved in a full sentence was apparent, and the concern for that overrode the initial shock at hearing anything at all. "You don't have to --"

10K raised a hand to cut him off, eyes squeezing shut as he put his focus into making the rest not sound too raspy or uncertain. "Ten thousand. Name's ten thousand."

Doc was never too subtle with his staring, and it seemed likely that he was more surprised by the fact that the young man had said anything than he was by the name itself. After a few moments he pulled himself together again, flashing a grin that tried to be casual but wasn't too convincing. "Bit of an odd name. It mean anything?"

He hadn't actually thought about how to respond to that. 10K took a little while to think the words over, grateful that Doc was at least patient with that. "How many..." He gestured at the world around them as a whole. "How many zombies..." After another pause and a slightly frustrated breath he settled for a vague gesture of shooting a pistol, which Doc seemed to understand.

"No kidding?" Doc gave a sage nod, turning back to prying the gas cap off the car. "That's a lot of zombies."

"Got 1,055."

That got another surprised stare and the older man laughed. " _Damn_. So what happens when you get to ten thousand?"

Not something he'd really considered. The name was so spur-of-the-moment already, and though the goal was very real he couldn't say he knew what to do once it was completed. He wasn't eager to try to find the words to explain that he'd thought of all of this just a few days ago, though, and settled for one of his usual shrugs.

Doc considered him a moment and then nodded, starting the plastic tube down into the gas tank. "Got a while, I figure. Good name." The conversation seemed to end there for a while, and their focus went back to pulling as much gas from the car as possible - in this case no more than a few dribbles. Moving on to the next car had them passing Mack and Addy, and after they were at work on an old pickup Doc glanced up again. "I could tell the others. If you want them to know."

That was slightly unexpected, but 10K thought it over quickly. It would be more convenient having the rest of the group know - and they'd find out eventually. He wasn't exactly eager to try telling each one of them about it himself anyway. The offer was unexpected, but a good one, so he nodded and Doc grinned again.

"Good. Nice having you with us."

While he wasn't entirely sure about being totally 'aboard' with anything, 10K glanced around the group again and had to at least concede that they had certainly helped him figure out a few things, if nothing else. The idea of leaving the east coast was still daunting, but not something nearly as impossible as it had seemed before. It had been almost two years, by his best count, since he'd walked away from that old truck idling by the road. Maybe getting even further away from it would help.

There was a zombie half-hanging out of a car window, snarling at him as he passed by, and after a bit of consideration 10K managed a quiet, “Oh, shut up,” before driving his knife into its head. It wasn’t much, but a little progress was better than nothing, right?

They were headed south still. He had time to consider before the trek took its first sharp turn west. And hell, things might be a little easier now that he actually had a name.

* * *

 

The entire rest of the day tried very hard to prove him wrong. Every decision seemed like an overly reckless one, from trusting the stranded biker to even considering the refinery as an option. 10K didn’t protest, but that was more and more of a struggle the closer they got.

“That’s not a refinery,” he heard Murphy say as they slowed by the entrance, “it’s a zombie factory.”

It wasn’t inaccurate; zombies were crawling all over the area, up and down the scaffolding and surrounding the tanks. It would have been a welcome place for target practice if he’d had a good vantage point – and if he were alone. As it was, 10K made a point of scanning the area for good exits and muttered a quick, “Fracking zombies,” under his breath.

A little progress.

Garnett’s ‘no firearms’ order was logical if not ideal. He wasn’t bad with hand-to-hand, necessarily, but it was definitely something he wanted to avoid. 10K made up his mind quickly, hopping down from the truck, rifle slung over his back, and jogged around the edge of the building to find somewhere with a better line of sight.

He realized halfway up the first fire escape that he probably should have let someone know he was leaving. Two steps later he decided it wasn’t too big of a deal. They had managed this long without him, and if they decided to leave, he’d managed even longer without any of them.

It didn’t take too long to find a good spot with only two zombies to clear before he set up. There was a small pouch in his bag that he kept handfuls of alternative ammo in – good-sized rocks, washers, anything dense and heavy – and he set that on the railing, fishing the slingshot out after it. Not as good as the rifle by a long shot, but he had plenty of practice with the thing. He’d learned to use it before he was deemed old enough to start with guns, and it was better for shorter range kills or animals that didn’t warrant the waste of a bullet.

The rifle kept him alive. The slingshot kept him fed. Today it just happened to be upgraded.

10K rolled a rock between his fingers, narrowing his eyes at the car a few stories below. Doc was working at clearing the area around him; it wasn’t a huge number of zombies relative to the rest of the refinery, but still tricky for one man without access to a gun. He had the shot lined up just as Doc started trying to break through the zombie’s hardhat, and it flew a second later.

_1,058._

Doc spotted him quickly and 10K tried to ignore the fact that he was being watched as he fished a washer out of the pouch and sent it through the next zombie’s head.

_1,059._

The next toppled off the hood of the Suburban. At least he wasn’t rusty with the slingshot. Might pay off to go hunting the next time they stopped, he had to stay in practice…

“1,060!” Doc’s voice was unexpected and he nearly dropped the rock in his hand before recovering. “Nice shot, kid!”

The fact that the older man commented on it was strange enough. The fact that he had apparently been keeping track of the number himself was even stranger. 10K was grateful for the distraction that was Murphy as he suddenly raced the car away, flinging zombies off as he went. The situation on the ground seemed to be devolving quickly, and as his area of focus was abruptly cleared of things to focus on, he let out a fast breath and gathered his supplies, weaving back through the quiet building.

People weren’t supposed to get invested in him that easily, if at all. There wasn’t any point in keeping track of his kills, it didn’t benefit anyone else so there was no reason it should matter to anyone else.

_He shouldn’t care. Why does he care?_

10K slid his knife out again when he passed by a zombie that was half-buried in rubble, giving it mercy almost absently as he passed. At least two people now seemed far more invested in him than they should, and that was a little concerning. He was still on the brink of walking away; Garnett had told him multiple times that he was allowed to leave at any point. They shouldn’t be getting attached.

 _He_ shouldn’t be getting attached.

It was the apocalypse after all.

“Ten thousand,” he found himself saying, testing out his own voice in the echoing warehouse. A growl to his left replied, and he barely looked around to take down the zombie that came shambling out of the shadows. “Name’s ten thousand.”

If he was leaving there was no reason to work on the whole talking thing. He wouldn’t have to build his voice back up or worry about names. And yet he kept repeating it anyway.

The sound of gunfire brought his attention back to the situation at hand. 10K barely spotted the red cans, almost passed them by, and he had to shove another zombie to the side to reach them. It was a pleasant surprise that the things were still heavy; he uncapped one, taking the distinctive smell of gas to mean that it wasn’t filled with water, and briefly debated the strategic disadvantage of having both hands occupied.

But hell…they had quite a ways to go.

He wiped the knife on his pants quickly and sheathed it, hefted the cans up, and continued back to the ground. The no-so-distant explosion was a little worrying, but there wasn’t a ton he could do about that.

10K reached the truck just as the others were loading up. It was Doc that spotted him first and who stopped everyone else to let him catch up.

“Found these,” 10K grunted, keeping his eyes on a spot over the man’s shoulder.

Doc’s grin was wide. “Kid!” His hand on 10K’s face, though brief, was extremely unexpected, and it was just surprising enough to keep from really flinching away. “You’re a god!”

Doc grabbed one of the cans, and 10K felt something like the beginnings of a smile on his own face. It was still a little hard to identify, but he pushed whatever it was away quickly and swung the gas up into the bed of the truck before climbing in himself.

They were down a body – the biker had vanished, and no one seemed too torn up about it. Warren and Garnett took the lead in the Suburban again and 10K settled into the truck across from Cassandra. She didn’t usually sit outside of the cab, and he wasn’t sure he’d been this near her since he had joined the group.

It took a few moments to realize he was staring, and he quickly sought out an excuse, even if it was only for himself since she seemed too distant to notice right away. It was a good enough reason, anyway, a common courtesy. Common these days, at least.

“Excuse me, ma’am…”

Cassandra looked over at him sharply, obviously surprised. _First time she’s heard you talk._ He continued to be surprised by it himself. 10K cleared his throat, jaw clenching briefly as he sought out the next words.

“You’ve…got a finger in your hair.”

It was progress.


End file.
